


Nothing Important!

by CrownePrince



Category: Trolls (2016), Trolls World Tour (2020)
Genre: F/M, Flowers, Fluff, Fuzzbugs, Golf, Humor, No Spoilers, POV First Person, Pining, Poetic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownePrince/pseuds/CrownePrince
Summary: A completely smitten Branch spends more and more time with Poppy. Leads up to World Tour, except there's a fluffy twist.
Relationships: Branch/Poppy (Trolls)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 100
Collections: Best Broppy, Top Shelf Broppy





	Nothing Important!

I'm standing on the mushroom platform, looking directly into the sun, and melting.

Fuzzy, joyful pink rays wake up the world and fill it with energy. Everything the light touches becomes a better version of itself. Warmth washes over the crowd of rainbows below and I can feel that same heat from my spot just behind and a little to the left of the sun.

No one can see it, but I'm to my knees at this point. My colors drizzle down the stage and I'm full of fluffy tingles. I've lost track of my feet. Not exactly sure where they are at the moment. They feel good though. Everything does.

You shift ever so slightly from side to side, swaying to some internal pop song. Wild hand movements accompany the candied honey of your voice. You're in an especially good mood. It's not helping my current condition at all.

My face feels soft. Is it that bad already? The puddle that was my heart mixes with the rest of me, a melty pool of happy feelings. I'm picturing the star-flecked cheeks I've wished on a star to touch. One star for many isn't enough, I guess. I'll keep wishing.

You turn, I see your shining smile, and whatever rational thought I had left is gone.

…

"Branch?"

"Yeah?" My voice sounds like butter.

"The safety tips for the new water slide."

Like water, I slide forward on stage. I'm intimately aware you are next to me as I take the note card from my hair. Oh, wait, never mind, I had it in my hand the whole time. Apparently that's funny to you, because you choke back a laugh and it comes out as a snicker.

I say whatever is on the card. Your hand is so close to mine. I could take it, right here, in front of everyone.

My eyes flick over the list and recall images of crumpled paper, failed attempts to say how much you mean to me. No words are good enough. No song, lyric, or poem could ever be good enough.

After I finish reading the safety tips my hand crushes them on reflex. The jagged wad scrapes my palm. It's the opposite of what I want to be holding right now.

You know me. Obviously I can give instructions from memory. But lately I don't trust myself to do anything right when you're around. Even when you're not. My left thumb is still swollen from when I smashed it with a hammer yesterday.

I'm a mess.

I should be frustrated with you for doing this to me. I should be grumbling under my breath, storming through the forest like a gray avalanche because somebody had the nerve to bring me a cake and leave it on my doorstep so it got ruined when I came out. I still think you did that on purpose. Cakes can't be pieced back together.

You always have the most inventive ways to get back at me. Dumping the entire village in my bunker was a real kicker.

Thank you for that, by the way. It really wasn't necessary. You know I would've come after you anyway. I _know_ you know that.

But you're good to me. We're on stage and your hand slips over mine for a little bit. For the rest of the day that's all I can think about.

That small, tender touch reminds me of the weightless plant curled around my wrist and how it got there.

x x x

"Branch, I know you don't like hug time."

I groan.

"But it matters to me that you at least try it. If it bothers you that much you can take it off."

"Fine," I give in. If wearing this silly plant makes you stop bugging me about socializing for a little while, I'm all for that.

I stare at the thin vine pinched between your fingers. The ding every hour is going to be hellish. And how am I supposed to sneak around predators? Guess I'll take the sprinkling thing off every time I want to go out. If I say I lost it you won't believe me, because you're well aware of how organized I am. I don't "lose" things.

Cheerfully you say, "Give me your hand."

You're going to put the watch on for me. I smirk because it feels like I've won some sort of victory.

Your bright flocking blends with mine for a second as you slide the circle over my wrist. After I'm done reliving that image a thousand times, I notice the plant matches my hue perfectly. In a certain light I can hardly tell it's there. Which is funny, because, you know, hug watches don't come in that color.

"This is how you mute it," you say. Then you cup a hand over my wrist. When you pull back the vine is dull.

Your hug watch pings. Mine does nothing. I've never, ever seen a hug flower capable of silence. I know now this is a special gift from you. It feels like a promise.

"It was hard to breed one to do this. Don't lose it, okay?"

I never take it off.

x x x

"Remind me how this happened again?" I ask.

As I say this, the fist-sized green fuzzbugs are flying around and bumping into me. It's like being assaulted by cotton balls. The poofy critters are everywhere.

"The kids got a little excited and let them out early," you say.

"But I told them not to do that."

"That's the whole point of kids, Branch! They don't listen!"

"How is that the point of kids?!"

"It's fine! We just gotta catch them one by one."

There are about 200 fuzzbugs. "Oh is that all?" I say.

"Yep! And if you didn't talk so much we'd be done by now," you tease.

"If _I_ didn't talk so much? Me?"

To prove your point, you stick the pile of fuzzbugs in your arms back into the netted enclosure. In the course of this discussion you've already caught twelve bugs. You look at me with one of those saucy grins. This is now a challenge to see who can catch the most critters.

I snatch for the nearest fuzzbug to start evening out the score. "Well I'm not the one who…"

You're scooping up the bugs with a beaming smile, enjoying this silly task.

"...who…"

Who.

Who is so beautiful I start to melt if I look too long.

Who is so incredible she can turn enemies into friends, panic into party.

Who is a fantastic queen I would do absolutely anything for, no matter how crazy.

Who I want to be closer to, and spend more time with. If you're not busy tonight I can cook dinner. Or we could go to Suki's dance party.

"...who talks all the time," I finish lamely.

Even my sarcastic banter is off kilter. It's embarrassing, honestly. I'm scowling on the inside. Ignore the dumb lovestruck look on my face. It's bad, isn't it? It's bad. Stop… stop looking at me like that.

"Harsh," you say with a grin, recognizing I'm off my game.

We bring our catches to the enclosure at the same time. There's a fuzzbug hiding in your hair, a round green ball of fluff peeking out at me with shiny eyes. I try to get it with my hands and the cuddliness of your hair distracts me. The bug bumbles through your pink strands and I'm riffling around after it. You're laughing. "Branch, what are you doing?"

"Sorry, I can't catch it. It keeps moving. Agh, got it!" I pull out the puff clasped between my hands.

You take one look at the bug, then me, snatch it out of my grasp and toss it into my hair.

"Only fair if I get a turn too," you sing, plunging your hands in. It tickles, and I'm laughing, because I have such a good time when we're together like this.

x x x

Okay. I'm going to do it. Today's the day.

You're watering the flower patch out on the lawn by the mushrooms. I look around to be sure. No one is standing too close by. No one is moving toward you with queen business.

Your back is turned and you've got one foot off the ground, bouncing as your hand joyfully guides the watering can in an arc. A joy I'm familiar with because I feel it when we dance.

"Poppy."

And then my mind goes blank. I had this written out. I practiced it. Everything: gone.

Words take off without me. "There's something I was hoping to ask you." _Tell_ , not ask. Get it right. "I – I mean, I guess it's something I want to… tell you?"

You spin around and blast me with your full, undivided attention. "Sure, what's up?"

"What's up is, I, uh."

You're waiting happily for my words with those bright, clear eyes. I love that little smile so much. And those freckled cheeks. Soft, fluffy bangs. You're so cute right now I, ah... can hardly– um.

"I… I… I wanted to tell you that… I…"

Oh, gosh. Your expression is turning kind of serious. It's dwindled into this almost frown? Your gaze flicks sideways for a second and you tilt the watering can over the flower beside you. You're watching me with wide eyes now, looking like you want to run.

Nope. Can't do this.

"You're crushing it at this queen thing," I compliment.

You light up.

"Aww Branch, thank you! Being a good queen is the most important thing in the world to me." Pause. "Other than being your friend."

F–friend. Yeah.

Friend.

Think I'll go die now. As soon as I can move again.

"Branch, what's wrong?! D–do you not want to be my friend anymore?"

There's a sound coming from my mouth. Something like an uh that never ends.

Cue Poppy freakout. "Oh gosh, I'm so so sorry. I'll give you more space from now on. I thought – is this about the hair thing? I thought we were having such a good time, and, and, yeah. Hah! Ha. I didn't know… I mean, I – hug time is still okay? I'll stop if it bothers you."

"No! No. That's okay. It's fine. I… that's not it at all. That was all fine. Everything with you is fine. Better than fine. I… oof… heh."

The flower patch is peppered with broken, awkward laughter from both of us.

"Seriously," you say. "You shouldn't have had to ask. I'll give you more personal space."

"Uh. I'd actually be good with... less... space."

I can hear the shock. "You want the trolls to give you less space?"

My eyes are squeezed shut, my pointer fingers tapping together. "Not the trolls. Just… you?" I peek one eye open, even though it kills me.

You press your palm to your heart, like you can't believe I'm saying this. "You want _me_ to give you less space."

"Yeah."

"Oh." The watering can is empty and you're standing in a puddle. You step out of the water and focus on shaking off your feet. "So I haven't been bothering you?"

"Of course not." Why would you even think that?!

The sigh of relief you huff out is huge. "Man. I thought for _sure_ you were going to tell me to cut it out."

"No. I, uh, no. That's kinda… the opposite… of what I'm trying to say."

"Okay good!" you interject quickly. "Good. I'm glad we had this conversation. So… yeah."

"Yep. I'm just gonna go now. Um. Good talk."

"Good talk."

Somehow I manage to leave. I have no idea what just happened. Everything between us is extremely awkward for the next few days.

x x x

The rainbow wool zip line from my bunker to the village felt a little loose this morning, so I'm winding up the tension on the village side.

I sense it coming long before it happens.

"GOOD MORNING BRANCH!"

I smile without looking up. "Poppy."

Normally you'd hop away to the next unsuspecting troll, but today you haven't moved. That uncomfortable atmosphere is starting to build up. I really don't know what to expect from you, so while I'm wrapping the wool around the support peg I look over. You're holding a basket of invitations. That calms me down.

I look back to what I'm doing and double, triple, quadruple check that the cable is properly secured. "I take it one of those must be for me."

"Actually no."

Oh. My heart sinks and my ears do the same.

"I was wondering if you'd like to help me pass these out? If you're not busy."

Oh! I perk up. "Sure. I'm not exactly good with names though."

"That's okay. I was thinking you could hold the basket, and that way I have both hands to open the cards with."

Heh heh. Of course. So here I go, aiding and abetting the use of glitter. I accept the basket. The envelopes inside are a jumble of color and names.

And just like that we're back to the natural ease between us. I have to hold the basket with both hands because you dig through it with enough fervor to knock a pod down. Then, while you glitter the unlucky invitee, I pick up any fallen envelopes. That's the routine.

It doesn't take long for me to come up with a new strategy. The next time you shout a name I'm prepared.

"Harper!"

You go to attack the basket but I already have Harper's card in hand. I alphabetized them. The paper slips from my grasp to yours and you give me a wonderfully warm, affectionate smile that has my heart soaring. When you look at me like this it's with gentle eyes. I get lost in them.

We gaze at each other.

Harper says, "Yes, Queen Poppy?"

"Oh! Ah." You clear your throat and leap into the card presentation.

I'm deliriously happy being at your side. The final envelope comes too soon.

"Alright, who's next?" you ask.

"That's it. Milton was the last one."

We stand there looking into the empty basket for a while.

"Have you eaten yet?" I say.

"I could go for a snack."

Things snowball. A snack is followed by party planning, then cleanup at a birthday bash in the village square, lunch, harvesting cinnamon bark, untangling the kids from a game of hair-hold. We continue making excuses until we've spent almost the whole day together. We've done this before, but today it feels special. Probably because I'm hopelessly smitten. Don't mind me.

We're up in the tree sitting out on one of the boughs doing some troll watching. It's a game we play, where I make up names for the villagers and try to guess what their lives are like or what they've been doing today. Since you know everybody and my guesses are often so horribly wrong, you love this game. It's hilarious to you. Me, I enjoy it because anything I do that makes you laugh, or smile, or be even happier than you already are is like a gift.

Your hands are splayed on either side of you. Since you sat so close, it takes conscious effort not to put my hand over yours.

You look out over the village. "If you could make any holiday you wanted, what would it be?"

"Isn't it obvious? A whole day with no glitter. Haven't thought of a name yet."

You gasp. "But Branch, what about the glitter trolls?"

"Well I suppose we can make an exception for them. I doubt Guy would survive a day where he couldn't flaunt himself in public," I say. "What's your holiday?"

"I would banish all holidays!"

"WHAT?"

"Yes. And replace them with never-ending hugs."

"You're terrible."

"I'm the queen. I could make it happen."

"And I'm the checks and balances on that one. Never-ending hugs? How will we find time for singing and dancing?"

"Do you want the scrapbook version or physical proof? Because I guarantee I can sing, hug, and dance with you all at once."

You would hold me close while we dance? I...

My arm betrays me, and my hand goes over yours.

I'm frozen. Forever stretches out before me, an eternity of waiting for you to pull back, or sing about friendship, or laugh, or say anything. Just do _something_. Years, decades, centuries pass. Nothing goes on and on and on and it's been about two seconds now. My hand is going to start sweating. I just know it.

You turn your hand so it's holding mine.

We're holding hands.

If I swoon off this tree and die, it's gonna be your fault.

x x x

Well, it's happening again. I'll be honest: it's frustrating.

"Poppy, you're not listening to me."

Sometimes I think even if I did tell you how I feel, you wouldn't hear it.

Maybe I'll have to shout it.

Sigh.

The disagreement this time is about a rainbow sightseeing camping trip far beyond the safety of the village. I know the area and it's dangerous. You ignore me. So now I have no choice but to go with the group, make sure they stay out of the webweed, don't eat any nightshade, and avoid swamp lurkers.

Also: you're not going, so I'm being separated from you. Throw another log on the fire, why not?

"Branch, you don't need to go. They'll be fine."

"No, they won't. I already told you this is a terrible idea."

"Psh. Nothing's going to happen. What are the rainbows going to do, explode?"

I've already listed exactly what could happen. Guess you weren't paying attention. "Right. Yeah. Exploding rainbows. That's what I've been talking about this whole time."

"Okay. Now that's settled, Satin and Chenille need to see you about costumes for the Bergentown show."

"You don't understand. I'm not going to be there."

"There isn't anyone else who can fill in for you, Branch!"

"I can't leave the other trolls defenseless! Do the show without me."

You open your mouth to fight back, but something stops you. Instead, your lips draw into a thin line. Eyebrows pinch in consternation. "Well, guess I'll see you in a week," you say with a dejected shrug.

After we argue I wander off on my own. A terrible discordant emotion consumes me. It doesn't make sense: we're closer than ever before, so why does this one tiny dispute make me feel sick to my stomach? My heart twists in agony. I really want you to trust me, give me some consideration rather than gloss me over with optimism as if I'm not there, as if I don't care about you. I do care. I care so much it hurts.

What's it going to take for you to see that?

I cool down after the day's hike to the campsite. I'm not upset anymore, but now I'm stuck here without you. Melancholy sets in.

I poke at the fire with a stick, rearranging charred wood so it burns better. Maybe this will be the end of us. Maybe when I get home you won't want to spend time with me anymore. I rest my chin on my knees and watch red orange crackled paths glow inside black embers.

I'm terrified of losing you.

More than anything.

And it doesn't matter how many times we disagree, at the end of the day I just want to go home and see you. But… I don't know if you feel the same. You might not even notice I'm gone. Your parties were always plenty of fun without me, after all.

In my mind you're dancing like there's no tomorrow, perking up all the plants and critters with your bright voice. I huff and a weak smile plays out over my face. I spear a marshmallow on the stick, shut my thoughts out, and keep an ear tuned for the swamp lurkers. They're active at night. I'll fight off three before the trip is over.

When I set foot in Troll Village at the end of the week, the first thing I do is ask around to make sure you're alright and there's no emergency that needs my attention. Satisfied, I head to the bunker to drop off my pack. Word spreads fast around here so I shouldn't be surprised that I don't get far before you come dashing down a mossy tree path.

Yet, I am surprised. Did you… miss me?

For a second my heart races thinking you're going to tackle me with a hug, but you slow down a couple of feet away and stop. Thick, uneasy silence at the memory of our last clash keeps us apart. I don't know what to say. I look at the ground. It still hurts, you know. When you brush me off like you did. But if I admit that, it'll probably hurt you too. This is frustrating.

Our stalemate draws attention.

"Hmm. Yes. I think I see what the problem is here," Biggie says. "Smidge, could you hold Mr. Dinkles for a moment?"

Caring hands pluck mine off the rucksack straps and spread my arms wide. A finger tilts my head back up. I hold the pose, perplexed, and watch Biggie's back while he makes adjustments on your end. He steps away.

We look at each other, arms open.

You're braver than me. You risk rejection first. Uncertainty wobbles over your smile and your arms fan out further, offering me a genuine hug if I'm willing to take it.

I'm already there.

"I'm glad you're back."

"Me too."

The world rights itself.

x x x

There's a flower growing in the woods that most trolls overlook because it's so common. It favors bright sun, and it's small. Each little white bell that hangs from the plant's curling stem can fit on the tip of your finger.

I pass lots of the blossoms on my way through the glade. Many stems are empty or nibbled up by critters. Even though the whole plant is edible, it's bland. You won't find it on a menu.

This flower, though, has an interesting property. Once it blooms the petals never wither, never scrunch up, never pollinate or turn into fruits and seeds. It blooms forever.

But there's more.

After the grassy plain I travel through shadowed forest until I come to the tall, moss-covered cliffside. I hoist myself up into a hidden nook and walk down the tunnel to an open cavern within. Sun shines down on scattered, shallow ledges rambling up the walls.

The grassy ledges are coated in the flowers. None of them are white. Pink, red, and deep mahogany bells speckle the rising stone cavern. A rare few are so old they've turned purple.

I'm afraid to touch the purple ones. I carefully select a stem of red blossoms, snip it off, and place it in a jar. I've only done this a handful of times. It will be many years before white becomes pink, then red, deeper and deeper.

The flower is called Lover's Delight.

You're not at home, but I planned it this way. If the odd gift doesn't give away it's me, the slim earthen vase holding the stem will, and if not that, the folded note propped up against it is a last resort.

> _Wishing to make your day even happier._  
>  _— Branch_

You're in for a surprise when you taste them. Lover's Delight does indeed have a flavor, but it's one that only comes with age. As the color intensifies so does its passionate zest.

Red flowers have a flavor that cannot be described. I wanted to share the sensation with you. There's no other way to know what it's like except to try it yourself.

Later in the day I'm out on the mini golf course, kneeling, eye to the ground to see the dips and sways in the green. There's an incline next to—

"And then I said, _pineapple_ , but why?!" Cooper shouts.

Since the grass is wet my swing should—

"Mr. Dinkles, really! That's no type of language to use in front of the ladies."

Angle my shoulders to the left—

"Chenille, it's my turn to take pictures. You've been hogging the camera all day."

"GUYS! I can't hear myself think!"

Geeze.

That'll get me about a minute of silence, but it's all I need to finish. The ball rocks back and forth around the squiggly section of the green, through the windmill, and into the cup. Heh. Still got it.

The sound of your voice tears across the course like one of Gristle's trains. "BranchBranchBranchBranch!"

I'm the only thing standing between our friends and a furious pink explosion of excitement. A scarlet blush smolders over your cheeks. The tips of your ears are rosy. I feel a smirk perk over my lips. You ate one of the flowers, didn't you?

"WHERE did you find those? They're amazing! We should feature them in the flower festival; can we get more right now? Let's share them with everyone!"

As usual this is playing out in a way I didn't expect. Eh-heh. I scratch the back of my head and formulate the best way to say this in public. "Um. Poppy. Those were special for you. There aren't enough for every troll."

The silence from our friends is deafening.

You're extremely hyper. "What are they called? I've seen them around but never that color."

Oh, ah, hm. My eyes flick to all the trolls watching this. I can't say "Lover's Delight" out loud. I can't. Heat creeps up my skin. You're vibrating in place and beaming at me. My face is flushed. Great.

"Dude, Branch, what kind of flower did you give her?" Suki says.

"I, uh. Ah."

Paper. I have paper. I scribble the flower's name on the golf scorecard and hand it to you while my cheeks burn.

The smile drops off your face and you grow very still. My heart stops. Sinks. Was it too much?

Then.

Your mouth begins to curl up, slowly, slowly, higher and higher, soft rounded teeth peeking over your bottom lip. You level a low-lidded gaze at me through thick eyelashes. Flirtatious. Inviting. I can't breathe.

"Branch," you say loud and clear for everyone to hear. "That's very romantic."

The urge to disappear into my hair is so strong the tips flare out. Aaaaand my blush reaches my ears. Yep. That's all I've got.

All eyes are on us when you slip your arms around me. I take the opportunity to hide my face against you and pretend like I can't hear how quiet it is (except for Cooper's "awww"), pretend I can't feel a prickling sensation on the back of my neck from being watched. Actually that tingle is familiar. How many of our hugs lately have drawn curious viewers?

Mmm. You feel good. Thoughts fade away.

 _Ka-clink_.

A yellow golf ball rolls in the cup between our feet.

"Branch and Poppy obstacle on the fifth hole!" Smidge shouts.

Over the next few days my confidence builds. You liked my gift. You liked it! Haha~

I've got a song on my lips and a swing in my hips on the way to the bunker. There's a present sitting outside my doorstep. I scoop it up and hop on the elevator, swirl my way over to the kitchen table. The rectangular wrapping is soft in my hands, a ribbon criss-crossed over top with a paper heart in the center.

The rhythm of my heart matches the beat of my song. If this is from anybody else they need a vision test. I've got eyes only for you.

Off comes the paper cutout. On the back:

> _Think of this as a hug from me you can have any time!  
>  _ _— Poppy_

The song's beat goes on. One. Slide the ribbon off. Two. Reach for the tape. Three. Pop the wrapping open. Paper wings unfold all at once. How do you wrap gifts so perfectly?

I see what it is and I'm elated. It takes a couple of beats to shrug off my vest.

I'm in happy heaven, shuffling through the kitchen in harmony with the pulse of the glowshrooms and their music. Any time I sing like this it gets them going. I'm giving a private show to no one but myself, up on the table with a broom, wearing the brand new white robe. The cushy fabric is a plush dream. A monogrammed B embroiders the front.

It's perfect. I love it. I love you. I fantasize about stealing you away for a romantic vacation, just the two of us.

x x x

My fingers are occupied with guitar strings when the elevator decides to take off without me. I wonder who it's going to be this time. Only a select few trolls are willing to risk their glitter by barging in, so there's good reason for my chest to be strangling itself in chords hoping it's you.

Out of the corner of my eye I see, through the widening gap, the color always on my mind. Who's with you today?

No one.

No one. It's you, alone.

Oh. Uh. "Let me guess, last minute invitation to one of Cooper's spur-of-the-moment parties?"

"Do I need a reason to visit?" you say, scissors and paper in hand. "'Cause I can make one."

"I take it there's no emergency either, then. No swarm of grossoms attacking the village."

"Nope. I had some free time and wanted to spend it with you."

The floor moves out from under me, but I'm a pretty sturdy guy, so I keep my feet planted and ride it out. I put the guitar down before I end up singing. Again.

"Go out or stay in?" I say. Before, that would've been an insane question. Yet somehow (don't ask specifics because I'm not entirely sure) I've managed to convince you there are benefits to not racing around like a whistling firework at every available opportunity.

"I wouldn't mind seeing the new decorations you've put down here. You know how I feel about decorations."

I've done a few small things since last visit, splashes of color here and there. You get excited every time I show even a hint of whimsy. I'm learning how to make it work with my preferred natural environment and the romantic glow of the bunker lights.

The softer lighting mellows your effervescent skin. It does nothing to tone down your infectious personality. Not for the first time I wonder precisely how long you'd be willing to stay still so I can kiss you. I fold my arms, thinking maybe one second. Two if I'm lucky.

You're prying me for the scoop on secret passages. I tell you again I've shown you everything there is to see. You sense I'm holding back. You keep pressing. Am I sure? Am I sure? What's behind that door at the end of the hall? I can tell this is going to be a lost cause. Okay. You got me.

There is one room you haven't seen. It's, well, it's.

Sigh.

It's the bedroom.

And I know you're going to pester me until I let you in, so we may as well get this over with.

I open the door and have a fraction of a second to realize my mistake.

My hair is dark lightning with a will of its own. It tears a leaf from a stockpiled berry and slaps it over the photo.

"What's that?" you ask.

"Nothing important," I lie. Then I calmly close the curtains for good measure. You always figure out my secrets, but this one I'm not willing to share just yet.

I want to wake up next to you every morning.

It's easier to stand by the far wall of my bedroom looking at the curtains than find out what your expression is. I'm calculating how to turn around without my eyes going to your face like a magnet. Ah, that'll work. I sweep them over the ceiling in a roll that ends up at the stack of jugs on the floor.

You haven't crossed over the threshold. I see your toes rock up while you fidget in place, probably with your hands tucked behind your back. "Your bedroom is really cozy. I love the rug. Is that blanket okay though? I can get you a new one."

My laugh comes out like a bark for two reasons. First, because if I invite you to try the blanket you're going to step over that threshold. Second, because you have no idea. It's actually very comfortable. That's why I keep patching it up.

I say, "I'm good. Thanks, though."

It's quiet. I want to tell you to come in. You're waiting for me to do it. Neither of us says anything.

I know my bed is small. I've thought about it a lot and we would both fit if we cuddled. Cuddling: it's a combination of nap time and hug time. I've rationalized this pretty well, I think. All I have to do is ask.

"Uh."

Well, it was worth a shot.

You chuckle at my lack of words. The bubbly melody washes away the tension. "Let's go for a walk," you say. "There's a new flavor of ice cream at the market I want to try."

I love ice cream. I'm happy with this arrangement, but I'm also kicking myself for not having the guts to say what I want to say.

You're stronger than I ever knew. I think of all the times I rejected your invitations, and you never shed a single tear. Usually you smiled. Meanwhile I know for a fact if I invited you to slow dance and you said no, I'd be a long time picking up the pieces of my shattered heart.

Let alone if I asked for more than that.

So I think I've got pretty good reasons for staying quiet.

I'm such a lovesick fool at this point that I'm counting down the seconds to when our hug watches go off. It's going to happen when we're alone in the forest. I'm already coming up with a plan. Something new this time.

The flowers on our wrists light up.

So. Now. When we're together. When your cheek is pressed to mine and I'm lost in this wonderful, impossible dream, cozied up with you in the dappled shade of our forest home, I let it happen. I let my hair slide down, slowly, round and round our bodies in a wide spiral, binding us together gently. You realize what's happening and nuzzle your cheek in little circles against mine. I'm amazed I'm not singing right now, because the affection I feel for you overpowers everything. Or at least I think it does, until I let go, and you kiss my cheek.

And that's it. I'm done for. I'm dead.

I'm only vaguely aware you're holding my hand all the way to the ice cream stand. It makes sense. I'd still be rooted to that spot otherwise.

You order for me. This also makes sense. My mouth is a squiggly line curled up at the ends. Speech is not an option.

One scoop of strawberry, one cherry on top. My favorite.

You pass me a little spoon with a taste of the new flavor, and I try it, but you already know. Now that I've got my strawberry I don't want anything else.

x x x

I'm drifting to sleep, thinking about us.

We've been through a lot. Every moment we spend with each other brings us closer. Yes we have big adventures, but in the long run it's the little things that light up my life. It's the morning dances where you wrap your hair around mine. It's you and me in your pod cutting out party invitations with the front petal wide open. It's the rainy days you visit the bunker with a pocketful of songs. When we're together I feel like a part of something greater. When you go, I watch my heart walk away.

I think about how your hands slip into mine so perfectly. How the cool calm colors of my complexion are heated by your warm, lively presence. The way it feels when your body melds with mine and your arms are around me. We fit together.

I roll over, so I can look at nothing important. Nothing important at all.

I don't really believe in fate, or destiny, or predetermination. So I know I shouldn't think this way. I know it's not right. But I think it anyway.

I was made to love you.

And I hope one day you'll let me.

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly I'm certain World Tour will make Poppy oblivious to Branch's feelings, but I like to envision a world where the pair exchanges all these little intimacies the way couples do before saying "I love you" for the first time.
> 
> If you're up for a deeper Branch x Poppy love story from me, see [UNSPOKEN.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243981/chapters/53113762)


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